Perfection Is
by Coral
Summary: ...as perfection does.


Perfection Is.  
By Coral

Disclaimer: Star Trek remains, as always, the property of Paramount, who should possibly be sued for negligence and/or wilful destruction. But, anyway. I'm making no money from this (awww...!) and I promise to give them back when I'm finished. Maybe.  
Dedication: Credit and thanks must be given to Loz, who wrote most of the penultimate scene several months ago when I was stuck. The good bits are hers; the bad, mine. This fic is the sorry result of hearing Don't Marry Her on the radio five early mornings in a row.

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A slow love song was playing. The stars were shining around them. He had a beautiful blonde woman in his arms. He felt perfectly content for the first time in quite a while; what more could a man ask than this? She turned her face up to him, he lent down to kiss her and, as his eyes closed...

And he was rudely and abruptly pulled out of time.

Chakotay sighed heavily, burying his head deeper into the bonnet of their personal hovercraft. He wasn't really an engineering type, but the 'craft wasn't working and apparantly, as the "male unit of the familial collective", it was his duty to fix it. It wasn't open to negotiation or argument. And acquiring a new one wasn't permitted either. He was expected to keep persevering until it was perfect once more.

Water spurted all over him from an unseen source deep inside the mechanics.

He threw the hypospanner down to the floor and barely stifled a shout of annoyance. He hated perfection. Everything was outwardly perfect in his life. He had a gorgeous wife who kept the house in perfect order, everything spick and span. She cooked wonderfully and stayed at home while he worked. She knitted baby clothes for people. He did the gardening. They had two bonny children, one girl and one boy. Jane had long blonde curly hair and almost always wore a pale pink dress with lace and a white cardigan her mother had knitted, also trimmed with lace. Peter had an angelic face with blue eyes and soft blonde curls. Jane had been born when Peter was two and a half years old - the "perfect" age to minimise sibling rivalry and maximise bonding, she had said. Peter was now seven and being hailed as a prodigy at school; he played the piano and could do maths at a standard much higher than his age warranted. Jane sang like an angel, and her mother was taking great delight in training her to sing along with Peter's piano playing.

They were so perfect, it made even him sick.

And then her voice came drifting out of the little cottage with a white picket fence that they shared. With a sigh, he wiped all the grease off his overalls - he didn't dare go into the perfectly clean house the way he looked now - and headed for the back door, nearly tripping over the (perfect) puppy as he did so.

"What do you want, honey?" he called, slipping his feet out of his boots and into his indoor slippers; heaven forbid he should get any dirt on the (perfectly) spotless floor. Even the puppy wasn't allowed to do that. He checked his reflection in the (perfectly aligned) full length mirror at the end of the pristine hallway, and sighed at the sight of his grease-covered overalls. She would be bringing that up in Conflict Resolution Hour for sure.

Two of Four - formerly known as Seven of Nine - stepped into the hallway. She was wearing a flower print, short sleeved summer dress covered with a pale blue apron. It had a few smudges of flour on it, but instead of looking messy, it looked as if someone had artistically placed them there in an attempt to create a sense of realism. In her hand she held a rolling pin, and behind her stood Jane and Peter - perfectly attired, and perfectly clean.

"One of Four. The subunits require play. They are becoming restless and distracting me from the task of making my apple pies. You shall take them to the park and fun shall then commence." She looked him up and down critically. "But first you must change. This state is not acceptable. Do you wish to bring disgrace to our Familial Collective?"

"Of course not, dear," Chakotay repented with a sincere look of apology that he practised at least once a week. "I'll go and change right away." He headed upstairs to the bedroom, with Two of Four calling behind him:

"Do not touch anything."

He looked down over the (perfectly polished) wooden banister and saw three pairs of soulless, automatonic eyes following his movements.

"Please hurry Father. We need to go to the park," chorused Jane and Peter, voices bereft of any hint of eagerness. "We require fun."

Chakotay closed his own eyes and shuddered.

//A lizard smirked.

Who are you?  
Your Fairy Godmother.  
Come again?  
The Ghost of Christmas Future.  
Are you mocking me?  
I'm here to help you.  
What are you?  
A Spirit Guide.  
You're not my spirit guide.  
Not yours, no.  
Then why are you here?  
To show you.//

Chakotay's eyes flew open again; he had dozed off. The summer sun beat down on him and he raised a hand to shade his eyes. He could hear voices coming from somewhere near him, and he squinted. In bright light he could make out two vague forms in front of him.

"Father. Father. Father. Father."

He shook his head to clear the sleep, and his vision settled to reveal Jane and Peter standing before him. Not one hair was out of place, not one shoe lace or button undone, not one breath a little ragged from exercise. They even seemed to be blinking at the same time.

And they repeated: "Father. Father. Father. Father."

"What?" Chakotay asked, irritably.

"Fun ended ten point five minutes ago, Father," Peter said seriously. "Mother will be wondering where we are."

Chakotay eyed them, a little unnerved. "Don't you want to play any more?" he asked. The park was a large, impressive one that Starfleet had provided for any children who wished to use it, and it was always humming with the shouts of happy youngsters and the gossip of parents; peals of laughter and squeals. It had one of the largest, most impressive climbing frames anywhere on Earth, and there were always a few Starfleet cadets or junior officers on their off-hours hanging around and playing make-believe space battles with the children.

"We need no more fun," Peter stated.

Chakotay wondered if they'd even had any fun in the first place. "Okay, let's go home. How about going via the sweet shop?"

Peter and Jane stared unblinkingly at him.

"Why?" Jane finally asked. "We do not require additional nutritional supplements."

"They are not actually nutritional, Jane," Peter explained. "They will cause tooth decay and make us grow too large. I am not entirely certain why Father wishes this to happen."

"Forget I mentioned it," Chakotay said, standing up. "Let's just go home." He held out his hands to them, but neither took them. Awkwardly dropping his arms back to his side, he started down along the coast road. The sun was starting to sink in the sky, and he was determined to enjoy the walk, if not the company. The children followed him in stony silence.

Shortly they were walking down a path overlooking the San Francisco Bay. Golden Gate Bridge rose high in front of them, the light of the sun causing it to shine brightly. Chakotay stopped to admire the scene; shafts of sunlight breaking through clouds, seagulls swooping and soaring as the sound of their mews filled the air.

"Why have we stopped?" Jane demanded.

Chakotay did not answer. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so, trying to absorb as much of the natural as possible before trying to deal with the unnatural.

//Do you see it yet?  
See what?  
What I am showing you.  
Why have you brought me here?  
To show you.  
To show you what?  
What you do not have, and what you do not want.  
What does that mean?//

Chakotay opened his eyes as the old-fashioned wooden bed creaked. She was getting into bed with him. He smiled. She settled underneath the duvet and he cuddled up to her, kissing her shoulders and the nape of her neck.

She pushed him away.

"I have a headache," she stated flatly.

"You've had a headache every night since we found out we'd conceived Jane," Chakotay pointed out bitterly. "I thought your implants meant you didn't even get headaches."

"I have a headache," she repeated firmly. Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Chakotay sighed, turned over, and closed his eyes.

//Now do you see?  
What am I supposed to see?  
What do you see?  
A loveless marriage.  
Your eyes are opening, Chakotay.  
What is all this for?//

Chakotay opened his eyes as the early morning sun streamed through the curtains. He was warm under the covers, but the other side of the bed was empty and obviously had been for some time. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and started searching for his uniform. He showered slowly before dressing and going downstairs to find her serving breakfast. She handed him a cup of coffee, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Good morning, darling," she beamed.

"Good morning, Father," Peter and Jane chorused. They were dressed in school uniforms and were drinking orange juice.

Chakotay took the coffee automatically and drank it down. She handed him his briefcase and he kissed her on the cheek before leaving the house, bound for his office at Starfleet Headquarters. The walk was a mere ten minutes, and he was always surprised at how that short walk rejuvenated him so much. Arriving at his office, he felt better than he had since... well... Friday, when he'd left his office. He put the briefcase down and actually started humming as he began to make his way through the stack of PADD's on the table.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, the stack had all but gone, and he felt pleased enough with himself to stroll down to the coffee bar to grab a snack in addition to the plain cheese sandwiches that she always made him. He normally ate out in the park, but he felt like a reward today. And other people - normal people, he admitted silently - would be pleasant company. He was bound to run into someone he knew.

What - or who - he wasn't expecting was to run into was quite who he did, in the fashion he did. His eyes closed as his head made contact with the hard floor.

//Now you'll see.  
See what?  
You'll see.  
What will I see?//

Chakotay's eyes opened as he came back round. Slowly the world started to regain its focus, and he tried to sit up, shaking his head slightly in an attempt to clear the fogginess in his head. Admiral Kathryn Stevens was sitting in front of him, her worried gaze focused on him; a face he hadn't seen in person in several years. Soft greying hair framed her face; Chakotay couldn't help but contrast it to his wife's (perfectly) blonde hair that was always stiffly pulled back.

"Are you alright?" she asked, concern tinging her voice.

"Kathryn...?" Chakotay looked at her wonderingly. "Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me - who did you expect? Seven?" she replied, a slight hint of jealously colouring her tone.

"Two of Four," Chakotay corrected, almost automatically. Kathryn gave him a wry smile that said more than words could have done. He grinned back. "So, erm... coffee?"

Her nod of agreement was enough and he pulled himself to his feet. "I haven't seen you in a while," he began hesitatingly as they walked down the corridor towards the coffee bar together.

"Well, I've been busy," she answered slowly. "Things aren't... going very well for me. But what about you? How are things with you and Sev- beg her pardon, Two of Four?"

"The Familial Collective is..." Chakotay's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Perfect," he finished. "We have two children, Three and Four of Four, also known as Jane and Peter. Peter's a genius academically and musically, and Jane is a child prodigy and beautiful to boot. They're just..."

"Perfect?" Janeway finished with a sympathetic smile. "I wish I could say the same about Phil and I. Things are..." She took a deep breath then frankly admitted, "He's filed for divorce."

Impulsively, Chakotay took her hand and squeezed it supportively. "I'm sorry to hear that." He was grateful when she didn't pull away from the contact.

"It's for the best. Things weren't working out." She turned to face him with a sad expression on her face. "Chakotay, I wish that we..."

"Kathryn, don't..."

But he wished. He wished too.

//You see.  
I see.  
You can change it.  
How?//

Chakotay's eyes flew open just as his lips were about to make contact with Seven's. Abruptly, he stood up; she looked up at him, confused. He felt just as confused; trying to work out where he was, what was happening, what he was doing.

What he was supposed to be doing.

"I... I'm sorry," he stammered in a very un-Chakotay-like manner.

"Are you ill?" Seven's manner was perfunctory as always.

Chakotay sat down in a nearby armchair, close enough not to give the impression of distancing himself from her, but far enough away not to enourage contact and to actually distance himself from her. "Headache," he replied somewhat vaguely.

"What am I required to do in order to ease your pain?" she inquired without any real interest.

An immediate answer sprung into Chakotay's mind, even though it didn't fully answer the question posed. It involved Seven leaving and Kathryn... Kathryn being his friend again, more than his friend. And it definitely didn't involve white picket fences.

He needed to speak with his spirit guide. Urgently. She would undoubtedly muddy the situation further and confuse his thoughts, but that confusion would ultimately set him on a path that would lead to clarity. Since his confusion stemmed from the actions of a spirit guide and a trip of some sort into the spirt world, it seemed the logical place to start.

"Nothing, Seven. I just... I need..." I need space, Chakotay thought. Time to think, time to reflect.

"You should see The Doctor," Seven stated tersely.

"Seven, I don't need medicine. I don't need scanning. I need..." Chakotay lowered his head and closed his eyes, and the lizard was with him again. His own spirit guide was lying protectively beside the lizard.

You know what you have to do. Act now.  
Now?  
This is the turning point.

Chakotay sighed and turned to look at the woman in front of him. What to say? Sorry, but I just travelled forward in time and... How could he explain without offending or upsetting her, when he wasn't even sure what was going through his mind?

"I... This... You..." He took a deep breath and started again. "This just isn't working, Seven."

"There is a malfunction?" she asked, arching one perfect eyebrow.

"Us. We're not working. Together, as more than friends. I'm sorry."

A flicker of understanding passed across Seven's features. She said nothing, words were not needed. Words were unnecessary now. Irrelevant. She rose to her feet. "Very well. Good evening, Commander."

With that she left him sitting alone in his quarters, staring out at the stars. A sense of peace settled over him with the knowledge that he was back on the right path once more. He knew that he had done the right thing.

He felt a warmth flare briefly at the back of his mind.

He smiled, peacefully.

The noise of Alex practising the trumpet couldn't be described as anything earthly as it tore, rather than floated, through the heavy night air. Clouds obscured most of the stars, and Chakotay could feel the first few drops of rain that told him that a deluge was on the way. He looked down at the greying redhead in his arms and smiled as he started to shake her awake. She was reluctant to move until the heavens opened and they had to race inside, laughing and giggling as rain ran down their bodies and soaked them through. Inside, he watched her as she began to wring her hair out, an odd smile on his face as he remembered. She caught the look, and tilted her face up to his, kissing him briefly, simply.

Perfection.

END 


End file.
